Can Anybody Hear Me
by Tari J. Deiter
Summary: Ezra Sanders spent seven years in captivity in a psychiatric hospital in Mannheim Germany, undergoing thrice-weekly electroconvulsive therapy to help him overcome his PTSD. Problem is, Ezra's treatment could be compared to torture. Ever since he left his quiet, rural life in Erie, PA in America, Ezra's life was turned upside down. And was going to get more interesting.
1. Prologue, Sounds of the Country

_Hello fellow Cyberchase/A-Team Fans! This is kind of my first attempt at writing A-Team fandom. However, it is also a cross-over. I started this story a few weeks ago because my lovely friend and co-writer and writing partner got deeply engrossed in the nitty-gritty details of an OC I created specifically for the next couple of stories for my Like-Souls Saga. She suggested I make a backstory for him and I decided "what the hell". However, as some of her characters (oc or borrowed from something else) will also appear in this story, she'll kind of be assisting me with this story as well._

_Now, this chapter is a twofer. Meaning it's a two-for-one deal. A prologue and chapter one all rolled into one. Same thing goes for if I decide to write an epilogue, I also pair that with the final chapter of the series. There's a reason for that. I'm a little OCD about the chapter line-up. And, yes, I realize this is slowgoing and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about the first chapter. However, like with many of my other first chapters, I like to spend that chapter introducting characters and places and stuff like that before we get into the meat of the story. Think of this as the appetizer._

_Without further ado, please proceed into the wonderful world of Can Anybody Hear Me._

* * *

¤Prologue¤

**July 9, 1962**

Erie Pennsylvannia was having a storm. A storm complete with a heavy downpour of rain, flashes of lightning, and deep rolls of thunder. Yet, the residents of Erie were used to such storms and, as night fell, they fell asleep. Including one such couple who had lived there for a long time.

Corbin and Anastasia Sanders had been married for only a few years now but had known each other ever since their early years of life. As they grew up, they became best friends for life before Corbin made the one-kneed vow to his beloved Anastasia, who was often called Annie. Now, in the second year of their life together, Corbin and Annie were starting to raise a family. As it was, Annie was coming toward the end of her pregnancy.

Sleepily, Corbin snuggled up next to Annie's swollen body; his long, strong arms barely able to make it around her middle. Annie sighed, contentedly, and patted Corbin's large hands. The rough callouses from his life cattle farming and cleaning floors for a local business rubbed against her workworn palms.

Even as thunder rumbled over their two-storey house, Corbin and Annie were completely oblivious to the sounds of the storm while in one another's presence. Content only to lay together with the ceiling fan thrumming overhead, the couple quickly fell asleep.

However, the tranquility of their night together was about to come to an end as Annie suddenly let out a gasp of pain. Corbin woke with a start and switched on the overhead light.

"Annie?" he said, grabbing his wife and rolling her on her back. "Are you alright?"

"The baby's coming!" Annie answered, desperately.

Never had Corbin ever moved so fast in his life. He was up grabbing his shoes, jacket, and keys. Then, after dashing across the driveway and yard in the pounding rain, he opened the barn door where his prized possession, a 1920 Mercedes Benz Gazelle, sat. Corbin pulled up the canvas top and snapped it shut, threw open the door, jammed the key into the ignition and turned it over. His left foot shoved the clutch to the floor as he popped the Gazelle into gear. He drove up to the front porch, got out, and dashed back up the stairs to help his wife.

Annie used her husband's strong arms to lever herself back upright. She slipped her swollen feet into her shoes while Corbin wrapped her coat around her. After pulling her to her feet, Corbin carefully guided her down the stairs to the waiting vehicle, seizing an umbrella from the stand by the door to keep her dry. All the while, he muttered words of support to his laboring woman.

"You're going to be fine, Annie. You're going to be fine." he said, helping her into the passenger side and shutting the door. "Breathe, my darling. Breathe."

Annie sat with her knees braced against the dash and performed the breaths taught her during maternity class. With one hand holding her belly, she grabbed at Corbin's hand—which was resting on the gearshift - with the other.

"Hang on, Annie. We're getting there." Corbin told her as he took off out the winding drive and made his way to UPMC Hamot Woman's Hospital.

The drive was treacherous with the pounding rain and blinding lightning and deafening thunder, but Corbin was beyond caring. He could have delivered the baby himself, having helped many a birthing cow with their calves. But this was different. Delivering calves was different than delivering babies and Corbin didn't trust himself to deliver his own kid.

A few times, the Gazelle slid across the slick pavement and Corbin was certain they were going to die. However, they somehow made it and he drove underneath the emergency underpass, ran inside, and grabbed the nearest orderly. Then, Annie was rushed to the delivery room with Corbin dashing at her side. Moments later, Corbin and Anastasia Sanders became the proud parents of a beautiful baby boy.

A boy they named Ezra.

Chapter One  
¤Sounds of the Country¤

**Seventeen Years Later . . .**

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees and made the grass wave hello at passersby. The warmth of the sun brought many people out for a swim. Even in the afternoon.

The warmth of the sun and the breeze went unnoticed by two border collies. Both laying low in the grass by the pasture, eyeballing the flock of sheep standing a few yards from the fence. The focus of the collies was intense as they waited in absolute anticipation for their handler to finally blow the whistle.

I let them stew a while longer. The collies would wait only until I directed them to move and it wasn't time to herd the sheep in yet. I sat on the fencepost chewing my bubblegum, watching the grazing creatures contentedly destroy pastureland fenced off for them. By my left foot dangling from the post, the big male, Rex, sat up and whined piteously. His expressive brown eyes never once leaving the flock. I smiled and patted Rex's head, right between the two half-erect, black ears. Rex shifted his weight from paw to paw; licking his lips and whining. Beside him, his mate, Fly, was also whimpering in eagerness to begin the herding. I grinned to myself as I imagined what the two collies could be saying if they could talk.

"Lemme get 'em! Please please please please pleeease!"

I turned my gaze skyward, noting the position of the sun and decided now as as good a time as any to put the sheep back in the barn as any. I spat my wad of bubblegum out into the palm of my hand and took the whistle from my pocket. Both collies jumped up, excitedly, though they would stray no further than the post unless otherwise directed. I raised the whistle to my lips and blew. Immediately, the dogs were off and running like two streaks of black and parti-color lightning. I watched them with amusement before blowing the whistle again to rein them in. They stopped and waited. I blew the whistle using a series of short chirps to direct them.

Sheep have always been considered dumb creatures. Any farmer (or pastor) could tell you that they followed the tail of the one in front of them. Sometimes, though, they scattered. Especially when a pair of sheep dogs comes your way. The frightened creatures turned away, bleating loudly, and stampeding toward the barn. While that was exactly what I wanted them to do, I still ordered Rex and Fly to keep the flock together; collecting any strays that broke away from the group.

Hopping off the fencepost, I followed the sheep and dogs back to the barn; shutting us all in once the flock was inside. I put the whistle back into my pocket, popped my bubblegum into my mouth, and walked around, penning the animals in their wooden pens. Rex and fly waited by the door, sitting up and panting with a look of doggish pride on their faces.

"You did good." I told them, giving them a treat from my trouser pocket.

While both collies chomped nosily on the crunchy morsels, and I cleaned up in the barn, I suddenly heard footsteps making their way toward me. A knock roused the dogs into guard dog made; both barking furiously at the visitor now coming through the door. I turned from my chore of dishing out the sheaves of hay to the sheep in time to see my best friend stoop to pat the dogs, whose tails were now flapping happily behind them as they licked his face and hands.

"How are you, Rex? Hey, Fly, sweet girl." my friend said, rubbing Fly's ears fondly.

I leaned against the pen and crossed my arms over my lean chest. "Sure." I said. "I see how it is, Lukas Cray. You say hi to the dogs and not me." I pretended to act injured much to Luke's amusement.

Lukas, AKA Luke, raised his head and grinned at me; his pearly white teeth showing through his dark lips. "Hi, Ezra." he finally said.

"Hi." I responded back, going back to my chore.

I heard Luke give Rex and Fly one last pat on their heads before coming to stand behind me. It was an action that long ago used to make me nervous. But now I was used to it.

Lukas Cray was a huge guy. Solidly built by all the muscles in his chest and arms. Despite looking like he could take down a bull with his bare hands, he was the gentle sort. A help-an-old-lady-cross-the-street kind of guy. If that old lady wasn't narrow-minded enough to allow a guy like Luke help her cross the street. What I mean by that is Luke comes from a very large, Negro family. That's right, my best friend is black.

Luke reached across the pen and stroked the wooly head of a lamb. The dumb creature bleated and fixed him with a stare with one of its creepy eyes. Most people wouldn't be too fond of lamb eyes staring at you, but Luke was an animal-lover. Even reptiles and other creepy-crawlies didn't phase him. One of the reasons why I liked keeping him around.

"What brings you around here?" I asked, hanging up my pitchfork and dusting off my hands.

Luke pulled his hand out of the pen and stuffed it in the pocket of his pants. He shrugged. "Haven't seen you in a while, Ez. Just thought I'd come by and see you." he said.

"You saw me last week at that barbeque you dragged me to." I reminded him. "Remember that church-wide picnic at the park? Why was I the only white kid there?"

Luke laughed as he remembered. "Oh yeah. That was fun. Hey, did you ever hear back from that smoking-hot girl? What was her name—Lucy?"

I blushed, remembering the petite Negro girl that had followed me around at the picnic. She was cute—adorable, actually—but she was way too young for me.

"No." I said, opening the doors and stepping out.

"Pity." Luke said, tsking as he followed me. Rex and Fly darted out toward the house. "You two looked good together."

"She was fourteen, Luke." I reminded him.

Luke chuckled and nudged me. I tried to nudge him back but it was like trying to elbow a rock. Then again, Luke didn't get this strong for nothing. His older brothers, Matthew and Mark, were boxers and wrestlers. Luke had been the one they practiced on a lot. Luke learned quickly how to fight back.

"Skinny white boy." Luke said.

I bit back the retort that popped into my head. Now white man worth his weight should ever use the N-word. Especially if you were so close to one of those people who you could consider your brother.

"Big black boy." I finally said.

Luke extended one hand to admire the dark sheen of his skin. "Negro and proud of it." he said, using a voice he had long since copied from his Southern Baptist preacher. "At least we don't burn as easily as you pasty white folk."

I looked down at myself. I couldn't call myself "pasty" exactly. I had inherited the Native American complexion my mother said came from her side of the family, but there was no denying the sun-burn flush running down my bare arms and probably creeping up my neck. My father had a permanent sunburn since he spent his life toiling under the sun like I did now. But that's another story.

"What do you mean 'pasty'?" I growled.

Luke could only laugh as he slapped me on the back with one of his beefy hands, making me stumble. I couldn't help but grin. It was impossible to be mad at Luke for long. His friendliness was infectious. However, he was a serious student and when it came to protecting his little sisters from shifty-eyed guys. I still hear the scream of the man whose nose Luke broke for getting "handsy" with his "baby" sister, Mary Ruth.

Luke followed me to the house and kicked his shoes off outside the door. As I opened the door for my best friend, Luke looked up at me.

"Preacher Jim was glad you and your family came last week. He said the church was glad to have you folks eat with us at our table."

"It was fun." I admitted. Although I had to say I had never seen so much chaos at a church function before. Then again, all the church functions I had ever been to were at my own conservative Catholic church where "loud and rowdy" wasn't part of any gathering.

"You looked like you enjoyed yourself, for all your complaining." Luke told me, winking.

"I did. So did Dad with the men."

"Is that Lukas Cray I hear?" Mom's melodic voice hollered from the sitting room.

Luke's face lit up broadly when my mother came into the room. "Yes, Ma'am, it is." he said.

Mom grinned at him. "Oh, Lukas Cray. Can't get enough of you these days." she blushed.

I turned away from this exchange to clean barn dirt off my hands. It was no secret Mom and Luke liked each other. Luke had been around for more dinners than most black people could possibly say they got with any white folks' house these days. In fact, when the social standing between whites and blacks changed to more equal grounds, Mom and Dad encouraged me to make friends with people of other colors. Mom thought racism was ridiculous and Dad believed "everyone was equal in the eyes of the Lord". So when a scrawny black kid followed me home and I introduced him to my parents, Mom and Dad were absolutely thrilled. That was about ten and a half years ago. To this day, they were still thrilled.

Luke grabbed Mom in a quick—but gentle—hug and kissed her gently on the cheek. Mom laughed and swatted his arm in a "quit that" sort of way, which made him laugh, too.

"You staying for dinner, Luke?" Mom asked, polite yet suggestive.

"Can't." Luke said. "Mama's waiting for me at home. I just came to see how you folds were doing."

He kept a close watch on Mom's face and for good reason. A couple years ago, Mom fell and got terribly sick with a severe case of asthma. She fell on her way down the stairs because she was light-headed. The only reason why she didn't break anything was because Dad was there to catch her. He noticed she had trouble breathing and drove us to the hospital. There, she was diagnosed with asthma.

Even though Mom's asthma was treatable, it was incurable. And lately, Mom had begun sporting an ill-favored look. An almost sickly pallor to her pale skin. And her eyes had started to look glassy. If we thought we were on edge before when mom first got sick, it was worse now. Our hears almost stopped whenever Mom even coughed or sneezed. Dad especially, was more worried this might be our last year together.

Mom knew what Luke meant and reached up to pat him on the cheek. "We're fine, Lukas Cray." she told him.

"Okay." Luke said.

He knew about the asthma but couldn't help but worry. Especially after the picnic where Mom had sat under the eating tent to ward off heat. She had positioned her seat toward the middle of the tent, getting up to help on occasion with getting dishes arranged. Luke's mother, Debbie, was Mom's constant companion, making sure Mom didn't get too light-headed or out of breath. Debbie was also quick to provide Mom's inhaler whenever an attack came on.

Despite that, Mom had a good time. So did Dad, for that matter. But he, like Debbie, kept a close watch on Mom.

"Pastor Jim prayed for you this past Sunday." Luke told her.

"Oh. Well tell Pastor Jim that was very thoughtful." Mom told him. Mom was one of those people who could appreciate a word of prayer on herself or on her family. Mom walked the floors every night praying for me and Dad. She once said that even though she got sick, the Lord still thought to bless her with all that she had everyday. And her old bible was worn on the spine from her daily devotions, after which she also prayed for whatever was on her mind.

Luke nodded, swept her in for another hug, then went to sit by the door just as the dogs began barking and running down the driveway to the sound of Dad's brand new truck coming up the drive. Mom quickly went to the stove and stirred potatoes and green beans before glancing up at me.

"Ezra, could you hand me that towel?" she pointed the the washed-out towel hanging off the edge of the counter.

I picked up the preferred cloth—a wedding gift from her parents—and passed it to her with a smile.

"Thank you, Ezra." Mom said, using the cloth to open the oven and check the ham loaf. Satisfied it looked fine, she shut the door and laid the towel on the counter. "Supper will be ready before too long." she told me. "Why don't you and Luke check on Fly? She's probably with her pups by now."

"Sure, Mom." I said, giving her a hug.

"Sure thing, Mrs. Sanders." Luke said.

He and I stepped outside just in time to see Dad come out of the main barn and shut the door. He saw us and waved and we ran up to him.

"Hello, Mr. Sanders." Luke said, politely.

"Hello, Luke." Dad said, equally as polite. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Can't." Luke said, giving Dad the same story he gave Mom about wanting to see how we were doing.

"Fine." Dad said, friendly in his response. "Thanks again for inviting us last week."

"No problem." Luke answered.

"Except, next time, could you maybe invite a few more white people so we don't seem so out of place?" Dad asked him.

Luke laughed. "We'll try. No guarantee we'll get anybody."

Dad nodded before looking at me. "Got the sheep in?"

"Yeah." I said. Same ole Dad. Once he's done chewing the fat with someone, he was all business. Especially when it came to the farm which had always been his life's work.

"Did you do a headcount and make sure there were no stragglers?" Dad asked.

"Yeah." I said.

"Good. I need you to put the rest of the animals away after supper."

"Sure."

Another nod from Dad. After clapping me on the shoulder, he strode back to the house to check on Mom. To anyone watching except for Luke, that might have seemed a little hard. Years ago, I had thought that was cold. Dad had set me straight on what it meant when he would wordlessly clap me on the shoulder.

"Son, when I clap you on the shoulder like that, I realize I don't say much to you. But that' has all the meaning in the world. It means I'm acknowledging you're there. It means good job. And, most of all, it means I'm proud of you." Dad later went on to explain that it was the same thing his father, Daniel Thomas, used to do with him and that Dad hoped I would teach my son the same thing. Dad also looked at me, sternly, and said he hoped I would also follow through on another family tradition and give my first name to my son as his middle name, just like fathers had done with their sons for the last few generations of Sanders since coming over from the motherland (whatever that was) years ago. Dad was a stickler for family traditions. Which was why my name was Ezra Corbin Sanders.

The sound of the barn door opening drug me from my thoughts of Dad's past discussion with me. I looked and saw Luke's wide frame edging into the barn. Knowing that his animal-loving nature was drawing him toward the sound of puppies crying in a stall not far from where Dad parked his truck and Gazelle. I followed close after him and left the door open a crack to let some light in.

The barn in question was where Dad kept the horses, mule, and cattle. However, it was a two-story barn. The top story was where we kept the animals. The lower story was for storage. The tractor, truck, and car were placed way toward the back in stalls of their own. The manure spreader and plow were in the corner stalls with their hitches stuck out for easy-access. Between those stalls and the ones lining the walls toward the door, there was a good seven-foot gap for maneuvering the heavy equipment. The horse-powered plow was just a stall in front of the spreader.

Luke and I used to play amongst these stalls when we were kids. Now that Dad had given up raising rabbits for market—and now that we were older—such activities had been halted. Dad had piled the old wire cages and wooden support beams in the other empty stalls. All of those stalls, except one, was full of farm equipment. The one empty stall wasn't totally empty. Quite the contrary, it was currently the home of eight border collie puppies and one proud mama.

Fly raised her head, licked her lips, and wagged her white-tipped black tail. Puppies whined throatily and barked excitedly as Luke stepped inside and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. Within moments, Luke had four of them crawling all over his lap. Luke's kindly face lip up as he scratched each puppy behind the ears. He loved their company.

"Good girl, Fly." Luke told the elegant female who seemed to be glowing with pride.

Fly barked and I reached over to rub her neck, feeling sad that before long, the puppies were going to be sold to the surrounding neighborhood. Breeding Rex and Fly had been a private project of mine. One that earned me a little extra cash here and there. It was something Dad let me do even though the border collies were both his.

I did a quick headcount, relieved when I realized no puppies were missing before picking up a blue merle male puppy and setting in my lap. Out of all the puppies, he was my favorite. Ever since he could see, he followed me around wherever I went. While I hoped all the puppies went to a good home, this one I hoped went to a better home.

"Mary Ruth's been wanting to come over and see the pups." Luke said.

"Then let her come over and see them." I told him.

"That might be dangerous considering she'll want to take one home."

"So?"

"Dad's been debating on whether we should have a dog. He doesn't know about having a collie, though. We ain't got sheep to herd."

"They're quite fine as household pets." I reminded him. "And besides, it might keep your cousins together." I smirked.

Luke grimaced. Luke's family was huge. He had seven siblings and his parents came from large families themselves. Debbie had five older brothers, a younger sister and brother (both twins). Timothy, Luke's father, came first of six. He had four brothers and had a sister somewhere in between. Aside from Timothy and Debbie's eight, there were also a ton of kids from their siblings'. They all stayed close by.

"That is true." Luke said.

He looked down at the wiggly mass that was one, excited puppy. Another smile split Luke's face in two and he leaned forward to pick it up. With Fly still watching him, he held the puppy aloft as he examined its face. It strained its neck trying to get at his nose, mere inches from the end of its snout. It's saber tail wagging vigorously at its heels.

"I like this one." Luke said.

"They're going to be for sale before too long." I told him.

As if it understood me, the blue merle puppy in my lap let out a small growl. I patted it's head, wondering if I could, maybe, keep one of the puppies to train myself.

We sat with the puppies for a while until Mom rang the dinner bell. After moving the puppies back to Fly's side, we shut the door and left. Luke gave me a pat good-bye before running off home to the sound of his mother calling him.


	2. The Boys 'Round Here

_Chapter Two. It took me about a week and a half to write this chapter. I think it's slow-going but it's getting there. And, as my lovely partner in "crime" will tell you, I've had some issues with possibly deleting it. That is still up in the air because the hardest part is getting through this sandwich which is Can Anybody Hear Me. Right now, I'm at the breading. I have yet to get to the meat but I'm slowly working my way through it._

**_Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed this story:  
Followed: _**_shad__owwalker312, Kawaii Stella_**_  
Favorited: _**_Kawaii Stella_**_  
Reviewed: _**_koyandrs (1), Kawaii Ste__lla (1)_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own either A-Team or Cyberchase. Nor do I own the characters Rex and Fly (Babe), "Obi" (Star Wars), Eric Cartman, Liane Cartman, Stanley Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, and Kenny McCormick (South Park). _

_Also, there are parts of speech that may seem like spelling errors. They are not. Because Eric Cartman talks like that in the show and I wanted him to stay in character.  
_

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Chapter Two  
¤The Boys 'Round Here¤

There always comes a time when childhood must come to an end. For me and Fly, the time for selling Fly's pups came too soon. Dad came out to the house and told me to make the sign and put it out by the end of the drive. Knowing this was my best opportunity to talk to Dad, I went up to the barn, grabbed the half-grown blue merle puppy, and took it back to the house.

"Dad," I began.

"Hmm?" Dad said, looking up from sharpening his shears to look at me.

I could tell by his face that he was interested in hearing what I had to say. That encouraged me to keep going. I hefted the puppy up to my shoulder and watched his hazel eyes move to the fluffy collie.

"Dad, I was wondering . . . well, I've been working with Rex and Fly a lot lately and I was wondering if I could—maybe—train my own sheepdog?" I stuttered.

Dad spat on his sharpening block and rubbed the shears in a slow circle. I waited in suspense for Dad's answer. As he tested the edge out on his thumb, he finally looked me in the eye.

"Ezra, I'm proud of what you've been doing. You've been doing good with the animals. Rex and Fly in particular. It's about time you started taking more responsibility. Raising a sheepdog is one of them." He looked the puppy in my arms rather critically. "I see you picked one out already."

"He's a good pup." I said, hiding my defensiveness effectively. "I think he'll make a great sheepdog with a little work."

Dad put the sheers on his bench, dusted off his hands, and motioned for me to put the puppy down. I did as I was told and watched the blue merle waddle up to Dad's outstretched hand. Dad scooped the puppy up and looked him over.

Watching Dad look a pup over was almost like watching him look a prized cow over. He looked at his teeth, eyes, and ears. He tugged on the pup's paws and tail and combed his fur before setting him down.

"He'll do." Dad said. "Keep him if you want. But he's _your_ responsibility."

"Thanks, Dad." I said, scooping up the puppy and taking him out to the barn.

For the rest of the day, the puppy, who I named Obi, followed me around the farm as I got the sign ready and pitched out by the end of our driveway. With that done, I went to the barns to finish my chores. That was where Mom found me with a tall glass of sweet iced tea; shoveling manure while sweat rolled down my back and face in droves. I paused more often than not to wipe my brow with my handkerchief.

"Something to cool you down?" Mom asked, approaching the pen where we kept the cattle. She extended her hand with a smile.

I put my pitchfork aside and took the glass from her. The ice-cold liquid felt good on my tongue and even better on my forehead when I pressed the cold glass to my face.

"Thanks, Mom." I said.

Mom's smiled even bigger. Suddenly, I knew why Dad had fallen in love with her. She was practically an angel in disguise. Every quality a good man could ever want in a woman had manifested in my mother. A good cook, excellent housekeeping skills, and an overall domestic goddess. But she was also very kind and tenderhearted. Any man worth half his weight in gold would have been very lucky to have her as his wife. Dad was the lucky one.

"What did you and your father talk about earlier?" Mom asked as I set the glass on the window sill and went back to shoveling manure into the barrow.

"The dogs, mostly." I answered, nodding to Obi now sleeping in a corner. "Dad's letting me keep one."

Mom looked very happy at this. She loved when Dad gave me plenty of leeway. She loved when we had any kind of conversation at all, to be honest. She looked at Obi and nodded.

"I like that one." she said.

"Dad said he'd do." I told her, setting my pitchfork lengthwise over the top of my barrow and pushing the lot out to the pit.

"That's good, Dear." Mom said. "I hope he's the only one you got attached to."

With my back still turned to her, I grimaced. I was going to hate selling any of the puppies. However, it had to be done.

Had to be.

It took less than a day for people to come looking for the puppies. My sign had attracted plenty of potential adoptees. As a result, I had stayed in the barn with the puppies, watching the fluffy balls of fur be handled by anyone and everyone interested. At one point, however, I had to turn a fat boy aside for screwing around with the pups and acting like a regular asshole. Unfortunately, I knew the boys he was with from school. Also unfortunate that I knew most of them were pretty harmless for the most part. It was just the ringleader that made me uneasy.

"Hey, look at that one." Eric Cartman said, leaning over the stall door as far as his fat body would allow to point to a black and white female. "It looks like a bouncy ball. Wonder if it bounces."

I glowered at the brown-haired teenager. I had never liked Eric. He was nothing more than a pompous asshole. A brat and a bit of a bully. He knew how to manipulate people to get whatever he wanted. I found it quite strange what he could get permission for just by simpering to his mother.

"Dude, not cool!" said the Jewish red-head named Kyle Broflovski. He and his best friend, Stanley Marsh, were appalled.

"No. I'm seriously, you guys." Eric said. "It's so fat, we could bounce it."

"Like a basketball." said the fourth boy, Kenneth McCormick. His words were muffled but I had been around him just long enough to understand a great deal. He noticed my glare and quickly mumbled something else into the collar of his parka. Something that sounded like, "But that would be animal cruelty and is frowned upon by many people."

Eric snorted. "Hippies, mostly." he grumbled.

It was common knowledge that Eric hated hippies. It was also common knowledge that his mother, Liane, was a hippie. A fact Eric either didn't know or completely ignored.

"Potheads the lot of them." Eric ranted.

I quickly decided I no longer wanted them around. Least of all Eric. I folded up the bills of cash I had already earned and stuffed it into my back pocket. Eric didn't notice I was coming over until I was almost on top of him.

"Cartman, time for you to go home." I said, firmly.

Eric cast me a mean look. I never noticed until now that Eric's eyes were very green. Green with envy. I knew the look he was giving me. He was about to get very bratty.

"You're not the boss of me." he said.

"You're on private property." I reminded him. "I don't like your language and what you're saying so I'm asking you to leave." I said, making it more than obvious he was no longer welcome here.

Eric shuffled a turn to confront me. He had to be the fattest kid in school. And no wonder, he never did anything besides sit back and complain about everything.

"Make me, farm boy." he challenged.

I was reaching for the pitchfork when a shadow suddenly loomed behind me. Eric's expression changed. As did Stanley, Kyle, and Kenneth's.

"Is there a problem?" Luke's voice boomed behind me.

"N-no problem." Stanley said, raising his hands and backing up.

"None at all." Kyle agreed. "We were just leaving."

Kenny mumbled an interjection in agreement.

Eric sized my friend up before backing up. Eric hated black people almost as much as he hated hippies. Then again, Eric hated everybody. I could feel Luke sizing Eric up and wondered who would win: Big Black Powerhouse or Big Fat Cake-Eater.

"Let's go." Eric said.

Big Black Powerhouse – 1; Big Fat Cake-Eater – 0.

I loosened my grip on the shaft of the pitchfork and turned around. I suddenly realized Luke hadn't come alone. Mary Ruth ducked out from behind her big brother's enormous frame and happily grabbed me around the middle.

"Ezra!" she sang.

Having grown up with Luke and his family, I got used to a lot of the quirks each member possessed. Mary Ruth was a very loving kid. For being only seven years old, she was a lot more mature, which was one the one "handsy" guy had mistaken her for someone older. He never made that mistake again.

I hugged Mary Ruth back. She was a petite young thing. Very pretty and gentle like a fawn. I could see why she had so many suitors. And why her older brothers were so protective of her. I would be too if she was my little sister.

Mary Ruth pulled back and bounced on her heels. Her curly, inky black hair bounced about her full face as her full lips parted over her pearly-white teeth. Her dress looked nice on her.

"Hey, Mary Ruth." I said. "Here to see the puppies?"

Mary Ruth nodded vigorously. "Daddy said we could pick one out." she said.

"That's good." I said. I opened the stall and Mary Ruth skipped in.

I watched Mary Ruth lift her skirt before kneeling on the ground. The puppies gathered around her with their tails wagging. She let them lick her hands before lifting one into her lap. She laughed as it licked her face.

"I like this one, Luke." she said.

I smiled. "She's a good one." I told her. "Takes after her mother."

As if she understood me, Fly woofed in agreement and wagged her tail. Luke chuckled and fondled one of her half-erect ears, much to her enjoyment.

"How much you want for her?" Luke asked, nodding to the puppy in Mary Ruth's arms.

I charged him the same as I did for everyone else. I knew they wouldn't have it any other way. Especially Timothy, who was a proud, God-fearing man. He believed that people—blacks and whites—should be equal no matter what. Even though I was very tempted to let them just take the dog, I knew they wouldn't accept the "you're my friend so the puppy is yours" excuse. Luke peeled the bills apart and handed them to me. I folded the bills in with my earnings and watched Mary Ruth tuck her chosen puppy under her arm, and stand up. She made sure the rest of the litter stayed in the stall before shutting the door. I loved the joy that just glowed on Mary Ruth's face as she coddled the puppy. But then, Luke pulled my brain out of the gutter.

"Was Fatboy giving you problems?" he asked, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder in the direction Eric and his posse disappeared to.

"Not really." I said. "Just making cruel jokes about bouncy ball puppies and wondering if they bounce."

"That's mean." Mary Ruth said. Mary Ruth hated Eric. Then again, there wasn't a single kid—and a handful of adults in town—that hated Cartman. He was just one of those kids everyone could hate. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"There are people like that, Mary Ruth." I said.

She scowled. "Those are bad people!" she said, bitterly.

I couldn't help but agree with her. Bad people indeed. Anyone who understood the value of a good working dog would keep their dogs safe because they're precious creatures. I couldn't see Dad abusing either Rex or Fly. They were his dogs and his workers. Dad understood the value of a good worker.

"Cartman's the one who should be talking. You could bounce him like a basketball. Problem is, I wouldn't want to try to make a basket with him." Luke said.

I laughed and Mary Ruth joined in. Luke and Mary Ruth stuck around for a while. Then it was time for supper and letting the sheep in. Mary Ruth watched, excitedly, as Rex and Fly rounded up the sheep and herded them into the barn. It occurred to me she probably hadn't seen a sheep herding demonstration in a while. If not ever.

I patted her on the shoulder. "Wait 'til the Fall Festival." I told her.

"I can't wait." Mary Ruth said.


End file.
